


wing(wo)men

by rulingcourt



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: A Powerpoint presentation about why Iwa-chan loves Oikawa., A bunch of OCs but they're here to help Oiks get his man., Fluff, M/M, Pining, Slice of Life, high school shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-01 05:08:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15135788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rulingcourt/pseuds/rulingcourt
Summary: “So. Let me see if I have this right,” Tooru says, pained. “You all know about...my…thing,” Tooru wrinkles his nose at the inefficiency of language, because what word could even fully encapsulate what he felt. “My thing. For...Iwa-chan.”As Tooru sweeps his eyes from seat to seat, he takes in the mirthful looks, the eyes narrowed into mischievous half moons, and the invasively knowing grins of the Seijou third year girls, and he’s hit with the very distinct revelation that he was seated with a tableful of Future Aunties.--OR: Oikawa's fan club members ain't dumb. They've been watching him for years and it's high time to help Tooru get his man.





	1. In Which a Grand Scheme is Proposed

**Author's Note:**

> I've read a lot of Iwaoi fic, and I wanted to switch things up with how Oikawa's fangirls have been portrayed.
> 
> I also headcanon that Takeru's mom is Tooru's older sister and she taught him a thing or two about how to treat women. I like to think he'd be very nice to his fan club!

It started as a normal confession after volleyball practice on a Tuesday.

   
“I’m sorry, Mei-chan, but—”

   
“—you have to focus on volleyball, right?” Mei-chan says, deadpan. “As the captain of the volleyball team, you have a responsibility to your teammates and it wouldn’t be fair of you to go out with someone as beautiful, kind, and clever as me at the same time. I deserve all the time and attention in the world, and you can’t be the one to give it to me right now.”

   
Tooru’s mouth snaps shut. Well then.

   
Upwards of a hundred confessions during his entire high school career, and having his go-to rejection parroted back at him before he could get a word in is an event he’s never mentally rehearsed for.

   
Then again, he’s known Kihara Mei for something like six years now and while she’s always jokingly referred to herself as president of the Oikawa Tooru fanclub, he’d never really expected her to confess.

   
Kihara Mei was a formidable girl with long, pin-straight, black hair, an excellent homemade chocolate recipe and an authoritative snap to her voice that could keep the rest of the fanclub from stepping out of line during volleyball practice. Besides that, Mei had cute, uneven dimples, a cheerful willingness to help Tooru with History homework during homeroom, _and_ best of all, he could always count on Mei to casually slip him a stick of concealer under their desks on days where his eye bags were looking particularly horrendous.

   
“Oikawa-kun, forgive me for being so bold as to break your normal script, but, _come on_. We’ve been in the same class together since Kitadai. We’re lab partners. You talk to me and the girls nearly everyday after school before practice. I’m pretty sure, at this point, we’re friends.” Mei looks him straight in the eye and says in that formidable tone Tooru likes so much: “Be real.”

   
And Tooru has to grin. Mei really was always his favorite. Whip smart and take-no-bullshit. He raises his hands in surrender.

   
“Oh Mei-chan, I _am_ being real. It really _wouldn’t_ be fair of me to go out with someone as beautiful, kind, and clever as you while I’m already so focused on volleyball.” And though Tooru has said these words a million times, it’s never felt more true than with Mei-chan.

   
“We talk, you know,” Mei says crossing her arms, all casual. “You’ve used the same rejection line on every girl at Seijou for the last two years. Not verbatim, but pretty close.”

   
Tooru drops his hands, but keeps his smile carefully controlled.

   
“Mei-chan, was this really supposed to be a confession, or is this a third-degree interrogation?”

   
“It’s more, like, an intervention.”

   
“Well, you’ll be happy to know that the great Oikawa-san is nowhere in need of an intervention!” he says magnanimously, giving his bangs an extra flip, and picking his sports bag from off the ground. “My life is in perfect working order, but really, Mei-chan” —he turns his back, looks over his shoulder, and throws in a coy wink for good measure— “I’m truly touched by your concern.”

   
Case closed.

   
Really, Tooru thinks as he strides away, these confessions are getting to be a lot these days—

   
“So, you’re really gonna be like that, Oikawa-kun?” Mei calls from somewhere behind him.

   
—it’s true, maybe he _should_ freshen up his rejection formula. His fault, really. He should have figured that the girls would coordinate eventually—

   
“Okay! Fine!” Mei continues in the distance, “I tried to be helpful! I tried to have a nice, quiet conversation about this, Oikawa-kun, but, sure, walk away from me!”

   
—and he’ll probably have to figure out a new strategy for letting his fans down gently later this evening after he and Iwa-chan finish up homework—

   
“Still doesn’t change the fact that you’ve got an _enormous_ crush on Iwaizumi-kun!” Mei says, _sings_ practically, and just like that, Oikawa Tooru is ripped very rudely away out of the haven of his thoughts and back onto the rooftop courtyard. His heart feels like it’s stopped but that can’t be right because his face feels like it’s on fire with sudden bloodrush. His limbs feel heavy and everything’s slow motion, but he turns, and lifts his gaze to meet Kihara Mei’s piercing stare.

   
Tooru feels like she’s seeing straight through his soul.

   
For a long moment, all they do is look at each other, and hysterically, Tooru notes how dramatic this situation really is. Two high school students on the roof of their school near sunset, their hair blowing dramatically with the spring breeze.

   
Somehow, Tooru’s nice, normal afternoon mutated into a bizarre confession-turned-showdown.

   
Mei-chan. Whip smart and take-no-bullshit. He should have known nothing would get past her.

   
  
•••

 

  
“We’re not really _mad_ , Oikawa-kun!” Chiyo-chan says, over her cup of tea. “I mean, sure, you have kind of, sort of lead us on over the years…” The three other Oikawa Tooru club members at the table nod between their bites of dessert. She continues, “And, yeah, maybe we were a little bit _miffed_ at first, but like—”

   
“—we can’t really stay mad at you, Oikawa-kun,” Saya-chan finishes, flipping her pigtailed hair so it wouldn’t touch her plate of matcha strawberry cake.

   
And all Tooru could really do was laugh at this situation, even if it came out as a nervous vocal jitter that sounded not unlike a dying giraffe. He was scraping the bottom of his bag of conversational tricks, but in the thousand social scenarios he had mentally prepared for in his life, not once did he _ever_ think that he’d wind up accosted by his fangirls, dragged to a private room in a Sanrio themed teahouse, and be ruthlessly poked and prodded about his deepest and longest held secret that, apparently, wasn’t even as _secret_ as he hoped.

   
“So. Let me see if I have this right,” Tooru says, pained. “You all know about…”

   
He pauses. Swallows. Breathes.

   
“M-my. My…” Crush? It was more than a crush. It was an all-encompassing feeling. It was his heart in his throat. It was a warm, comforting hand at the small of his back. It was long and sweaty summer days. It was a conversation he never wanted to end. It was the arc of a perfect set rising to meet a perfect spike.

   
“My…. _thing_ ,” Tooru wrinkles his nose at the inefficiency of language, because what word could even fully encapsulate what he felt. “My thing. For...Iwa-chan.”

   
As Tooru sweeps his eyes from seat to seat, he takes in the mirthful looks, the eyes narrowed into mischievous half moons, and the invasively knowing grins of the Seijou third year girls, and he’s hit with the very distinct revelation that he was seated with a tableful of Future Aunties.

   
He _groans_ and immediately slaps both palms to his face.

   
Mei-chan responds in kind and slaps his back in a gesture that he assumes is supposed to be comforting, but frankly, just comes off as a little mocking.

   
“Look, Oikawa-kun. We’re sorry to overwhelm you like this,” Mei says. “And we know we’re being a little nosy…”

   
Tooru scoffs from behind his hands.

   
“Okay. _Incredibly_ nosy,” Mei amends. “But, to Saya’s point, we can’t really stay mad at you. We’re the senior members of the Oikawa Tooru Fanclub, but we’re not just in it because you’re handsome, Oikawa-kun.”

   
Tooru peeks an eye through his fingers. “ _Incredibly_ handsome,” he replies, weakly.

   
“ _Incredibly_ handsome.” Mei nods. “We’ve stayed in the Fanclub because you also happen to be—”

   
“Charming?” Tooru suggests, flashing a hesitant smile and settling his fidgeting hands onto the table. Complimenting himself was solid ground, a conversation he knew how to have, and Tooru could feel a slow ease in his shoulders. “Witty? _Amazing_ at volleyball?”

   
“—very, very nice.” Mei finishes. “You happen to be very, very nice.”

   
Tooru’s face wants to do five hundred different things at once. His cheeks flush with heat. He can feel his eyes widen and his mouth go slack, trying to form around several different failed responses. It takes a moment before he can recover, and he says, quiet and honestly, truly, _genuinely_ flattered:

   
“You think....you girls think I’m _nice?!_ ”

   
“You _are_ nice,” Chiyo pipes up.

   
“No one, not even my teammates, ever says I’m nice!” Tooru says, and if he sounds like he’s in disbelief it’s because truly he doesn’t remember the last time anyone has ever called him ‘nice’ and actually meant it.

   
“Probably ‘cuz you’re guys and you’re all emotionally stunted,” says Kimiko, waving her wrist dismissively. “No offense,” she adds, grinning.

   
“You’ve been nothing but nice to _us_ ,” Saya continues.

   
“But, you all said it yourself!” Tooru says, flustered and too warm. “You _know_ I use the same apology when I reject your confessions—”

   
“And, still, you take the time to chat with your fanclub members almost every day. Of course, at first we all thought it was an ego thing—”

   
“But you remembered my birthday!” says Kimiko.

   
“And mine!” Chiyo adds. “And you know all our names and classes.”

   
“And you remember a lot of little random things about us too,” Saya says. “Like, you followed up with me and asked after my cat’s health _weeks_ after I mentioned I had to take her to the vet.”

   
“You actually eat our homemade chocolate gifts, and give us specific compliments about our different baking styles.”

   
“You go out of your way to help first years find the right classrooms.”

   
“You noticed when I got my haircut and told me it complimented my face shape.”

   
“And you noticed how frustrated I was during Chem and explained rate of decay, like, a million times every lunch for a week with me until I finally understood it,” Mei says in that authoritative tone of hers and though Tooru is no pushover, he knows when an argument has been closed.

   
“We’re more than just your fans. We’re your friends.”

   
“You notice things, Oikawa-kun,” Saya goes on, twirling her pigtails absently. It was a tick Saya had, Tooru had noted, when she was feeling particularly passionate about something. She often twirled her pigtails during their very vivid conversations about the K-drama both she and Tooru followed religiously. “You really don’t _have_ to be as kind to your fans as you are, but you go out of your way to get to know us — even just a little!”

   
Tooru looks around at his tablemates again, searching their faces for any trace of venom or jest. Instead he finds the Seijou third year girls, glowing, meeting him with warm smiles and kind eyes. The lump in his throat makes it hard for him to speak.

   
“The point is: we like you. As a _person_ , Oikawa-kun.” Kimiko says, emphatically. It’s no wonder that she’s the vice president of the Oikawa Tooru fanclub, Tooru thinks distantly. He remembers her mentioning a future in law practice and he had no doubt Kimi-chan would make that happen. “Not just as a volleyball player or as the best looking guy in class, or even as a potential boyfriend. We think you’re sweet.”

   
“When you reject us, you always say we ‘deserve all the time and attention in the world.’” Chiyo says, and when she smiles it’s like a sunny day. Tooru always thought her smile to be one of the nicest in third year. “And so do you. You deserve to be happy too, Oikawa-kun.”

   
”So, let us help you,” Mei-chan says, putting a hand on Tooru’s shoulder. Her grin morphs into something not unlike the gossiping middle aged aunties Tooru passes by on his morning jogs. Positively _wicked_.

  
“Let us help you get your _man_ , Oikawa-kun.”


	2. In Which A Powerful New Alliance Is Formed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooru agrees to hear the Fanclub's pitch. There's a PowerPoint presentation involved.

“Where did you even _get_ that photo?!” Tooru yelps. They’re back on Seijou campus in the AV Club Room, even though it’s nearing 8 PM. (“Perks of being the AV Club vice!” Chiyo-chan had said, as she unlocked the door.)

“Kitadai yearbook,” Mei says, taking a seat next to Tooru on the couch and offering him a bag of popcorn. Saya, seated on Tooru’s other side, reaches over him to grab a handful of the snack. Tooru barely acknowledges the movement and instead continues to stare in disbelief at what he’s looking at.

Kimiko stands at the front of the room, primly arranging her headband over her perfectly bobbed hair. A pile of notes sits neatly on her lectern.

  
Behind her, her laptop projects the first slide of a PowerPoint presentation and Tooru has to get his glasses out and blink fifty times before he accepts he’s reading the title on the first slide correctly:

**  
EVIDENCE THAT OIKAWA TOORU & IWAIZUMI HAJIME ARE PERFECT FOR EACH OTHER: A PRESENTATION**

 

The text is superimposed on a photo of one Oikawa Tooru, Exhibit A, sleeping on the shoulder of one Iwaizumi Hajime, Exhibit B, as the two sit together on a school bus. Exhibit A has the most peaceful look on his face, his arms wrapped all around Exhibit B’s middle like a koala, and if one looks close enough Exhibit A is most definitely drooling and Exhibit B is just _letting_ him do it right on Exhibit B’s own shoulder.

  
For the five hundredth time in the past two hours, Tooru’s feels like he’s been caught. He didn’t expect his entire soul to be vacuumed out of his body on some random Tuesday and seeing photo evidence of his raw affection makes him feel...naked. It was already bad enough that his fan club members saw completely through him, but to be subjected to a presentation that was completely and utterly incorrect...

  
“Ladies,” he says, and he’s ashamed of the way his voice wavers. He squeezes his eyes shut and massages his temples. “You’ve got it completely wrong. Iwa-chan doesn’t...He isn’t…He...”

  
He tapers off because if he says it out loud to a roomful of people, then his greatest fear becomes fact. And frankly, he’d rather die.

  
“Iwa-chan is… too stupid to hold anything in his brain besides volleyball, protein shake recipes, and Godzilla trivia,” Tooru says instead, and even he can hear how lame he sounds.

  
“Oikawa-kun,” Saya says, leveling him with an excessively judgmental stare. She pinches the bridge of her nose, and continues as if explaining a concept to a very young child. “You have a talent for observing things, but we say this with complete love…”

  
“You’re an _idiot._ ” Kimiko concludes, serenely. “If you think that boy is anything but completely and utterly devoted to you, get your head out of your ass and see what’s in front of you.”

  
Chiyo kills the lights.

  
“Was the PowerPoint presentation totally necessary?” Tooru murmurs, inclining his head towards Mei.

  
Mei snorts and says, “Are you kidding? Kimi-chan is an absolute master at this. Be grateful.”

  
“Oikawa Tooru,” says Kimiko, with all the authority of an anthropologist studying the local indigenous culture.

  
The slide switches to Tooru’s school photo, a nice, inoffensively handsome picture of him in uniform, looking every bit like the king of the school stereotype in a TV drama.

  
“Third year, class 1. Captain and first string setter of Seijou’s boys volleyball team. Object of affection for the female population of Aoba Johsai and, frankly, Miyagi Prefecture as a whole. In his three year high school career, he has gone through eight official girlfriends. None of them have lasted more than a month, but in total his relationship lifespan averages out to roughly two weeks.”

  
Tooru bristles. He exclaims, “Now, that _can’t_ be right—”

  
“Shh.” Mei shoves some popcorn into his mouth. “It’s rude to interrupt.”

  
“His most recent relationship with Honda Ria, third year, class 3, ended just shy of the two week average, at twelve days. However, in recent months Oikawa Tooru has not accepted any advances and has turned down all confessions, citing ‘volleyball’ as the primary reason for his choice to remain single.”

  
“Spoiler alert,” says Chiyo, throwing jazz hands. “It’s not volleyball.”

  
“Oikawa-kun,” Kimiko says, drawing his focus back to the front. “Saya-chan once interviewed you for the school newspaper and you told her that your personal motto is…”

  
“‘If you’re going to hit it—’” Saya cuts in.

  
“‘—hit it until it breaks,” Tooru finishes morosely.

  
“So,” Kimiko says, over steepled fingers. “Why on _earth_ haven’t you hit this yet?”

  
The slide changes over to a candid photo of Iwa-chan, and Tooru practically _squawks_ at the sight. Projected before him, Tooru rakes his gaze over a photo of Iwa-chan. Half his shirt is off and the light hits his sun-kissed skin just right. He’s looking down, caught in the middle of a laugh, unaware of any cameras trained on him, and Tooru’s not sure if he wants to kill or bless the person who took probably the single best photo of Iwa-chan of all time at the Seijou third year beach field trip. Tooru’s hands fly to his face again, making his glasses go askew, as his breath goes slightly shallow.

  
Next to him, Mei lets out a low whistle. “Wow, Oikawa-kun. You really have it bad.”

  
“Iwaizumi Hajime,” says Kimiko, continuing her anthropological study. “Third year, class 3. Vice captain and ace of Seijou’s boys volleyball team. Arm wrestling champion extraordinaire. To the female population of Aoba Johsai, he’s known mostly as Oikawa Tooru’s best friend. To the male population, he’s known as one of the best all-around athletes in school. This has not gone entirely unnoticed by the ladies here, but he has rejected all four confessions he’s ever received through his entire high school career.” She pauses.

  
“Are you following, Oikawa-kun? Stop me if you have any questions.”

  
“I think the photo broke him, Kimiko,” Chiyo says, waving a hand in front of Tooru’s frozen face.

  
“Told ya we should have put it in towards the end,” Mei says, tossing a popcorn piece into the air and deftly catching it in her mouth.

  
Tooru tears his eyes away from Iwa-chan’s chest. His mind tries to supply the words ‘glistening’ and ‘chiseled’ as descriptors but he refuses to admit that his life has somehow devolved into some kind of cheesy romance novel.

  
“Well,” he says, trying to regain composure. “You certainly didn’t get _that_ photo from the Kitadai yearbook.”

  
“Nope!” Mei says, smiling. “Also, you’ve got some drool on the corner of your lip.”

  
“Honestly, Oikawa-kun, who can blame you?” Saya says, staring at the photo with her chin in her hands and a sigh in her voice. “He’s gotten really handsome lately.”

  
“He’s always been handsome,” slips out of Tooru’s mouth before he can stop himself. He slaps his hand to cover his lips and stares wide-eyed at the girls, panicked, for a moment before he remembers that it’s okay. He’s safe to talk about it here.

  
He’s never been able to talk about this with anybody before.

  
Saya gently takes hold of his hand, her thumb tracing soothing patterns onto his skin. “What else, Oikawa-kun?”

  
Tooru looks up when he feels Chiyo’s hand on his shoulder. She smiles that sunny smile of hers and says, “Let it out.”

  
And it’s like they’ve unlocked the floodgates.

  
“You know,” Tooru starts, the words rushing out of him, “Iwa-chan keeps his Instagram on private and only a few people follow him, probably because he’s dumb about social media and he’s never really cared about showing off to people who don’t know him. But that’s okay because if his Instagram was public I guarantee he would have received way more than four confessions by now. He might have received more than even me.”

  
“ _No_.” Chiyo says, as though Tooru just committed blasphemy.

  
Tooru takes his phone out from his bag. “ _Yes._ ”

  
Chiyo, Saya, and Mei huddle over Tooru’s screen and the trio of gasps that follows is so loud it’s almost comical. Tooru tries to laugh but he seems incapable of making any noise beyond that dying giraffe sound.

  
“#30dayworkoutchallenge?!?” Saya reads off the phone.

  
“Oh, Oikawa-kun, how are you even _surviving_?” Mei says, shaking her head.

  
“Is that a video of him doing pull-ups?” Chiyo says, reaching her finger over to click on a thumbnail.

  
“ _From the back?!”_ Saya exclaims.

  
The four watch transfixed as Iwa-chan’s Instagram loops a 15 second video of him. His biceps flex as he repeatedly lifts himself off the gym floor from a suspended bar, the camera in the perfect spot to capture Iwa-chan’s sweaty, rippling back muscles.

  
“Damn,” Mei whispers.

  
“ _Yeah_ ,” Tooru breathes, reverent.

  
“You know, everytime I see Iwaizumi-kun in person, he just looks angry and mean all the time,” Chiyo says, placing a finger to her chin in thought. “But I think that’s because the only time I ever see Iwaizumi-kun is when he’s dragging you away from us.”

  
Tooru laughs, and this time it’s uninhibited, exuberant like windchimes. “He’s not always angry and mean, I promise! He just has resting Godzilla face.” His face melts into a smile, helpless. “He’s actually really nice. The nicest person I know.” He looks up at Iwa-chan’s photo on the PowerPoint slide. Maybe it’s because the photo depicts such a warm, pretty day, but when Tooru looks at it long enough, he swears he feels that same warmth, comforting and real, all around him, surrounding him, making him feel like everything’s okay.

  
Mei nods. She prompts, quiet and encouraging, “What else?”

  
“When I’m with him,” Tooru says, eyes never leaving the photo. “I feel invincible.”

  
At length, Chiyo says, gently, “You know, that might have been the happiest I’ve ever seen you just now, Oikawa-kun.”

  
There’s a contemplative look on Kimiko’s face as if she was choosing her next words carefully. Finally she says, “A few weeks ago, before this meeting, the Oikawa Tooru Fanclub had another meeting.”

  
“That meeting,” Mei continues from Tooru’s side, “was just us four. And the reason we were meeting was because we wanted to talk about why you looked so, well... _sad_ all the time. Whenever you received a confession, you didn’t really look happy. Even when you went out with Ria-chan for a few weeks, you didn’t really look happy. She told us it’s why she broke up with you.”

  
“And so, we thought, ‘well we’re the Oikawa Tooru Fanclub!’,” Saya says, “If Oikawa-kun isn’t feeling well, there must be something we can do to help cheer him up!”

  
“There was a PowerPoint presentation at our last meeting too,” Chiyo adds.

  
“It was called ‘ _Things That Make Oikawa Tooru Happy_ ’,” Kimiko says, proudly spreading her hands up over her head like a theater marquee. “Some of my best work.”

  
“We got a bunch of photos—”

  
“—and made a bunch of lists—”

  
“—and shared a bunch of anecdotes—”

  
“Like, how you’re _obviously_ crushing on that guy in that K-drama that looks slightly like Iwaizumi-kun from certain angles—”

  
“Saya-chan!!!” Tooru says, affronted. “I am _not_!”

  
“The point is!” Mei calls out over the noise, with the same authoritative snap she uses to get the Fanclub under control. She gets up from the sofa and stands at the front of the room. At her cue, Kimiko changes the slide.

  
On screen, there’s a photo of Tooru and the rest of the Seijou volleyball team hugging on the court after a hard-earned win. In the photo, Tooru is ebullient, lit up from adrenaline and the fire of victory.

  
“We all know what happy looks like for you,” Mei continues, and her tone leaves no room for argument:

  
“You like us. I have no doubt that you genuinely enjoy chatting with your Fanclub, Oikawa-kun.” She gestures to the screen. Kimiko zooms in to Photo-Tooru’s face, and the feeling of pure happiness is so plain on that face that it’s almost too much to look at.

  
“But,” Mei says, emphatic. “None of us have ever made you look like _that_.”

  
Kimiko shuffles through eight slides in quick succession. Eight photos pulled from each social media account of Tooru’s short-lived relationship partners. In each photo, Tooru looks...okay. The same in every picture. Inoffensively handsome. Every bit like a king of the school stereotype from a TV drama.

  
Tooru burns and looks down at his lap. His hands fidget, the _Star Wars_ band-aids that Iwa-chan applied for his fingers the other day are already wrinkled and faded from his constant motion.

  
Saya takes one of his hands in hers again, running her thumb in calming circles.

  
“However...” Kimiko says.

  
“The more we looked at your photos, the more we realized,” Mei adds, as the slide changes again. “That the common denominator to your happiness…”

  
A new photo fills the screen. Tooru recognizes it from the day Saya-chan came by to practice to take pictures for the newspaper. The team had just come back, fresh from their win at Interhigh semi-finals. This photo must have been an outtake for the picture that was eventually chosen for publication, because not everyone is quite camera-ready. Hanamaki and Matsukawa are laughing raucously about some _Shrek_ meme they found online. Tooru doesn’t remember because, judging from the photo, his attention was elsewhere that day.

  
In the photo, Tooru’s smile is blinding but it’s a different kind of joy from the other photo with his team. The last team photo was kinetic, frenzied jubilation. Here, his gaze is soft and, frankly, _mushy_ as he beams in Iwa-chan’s direction. Iwa-chan is smiling too, facing away from Tooru, chuckling over something funny Watacchi must have said.

  
He wonders how so many cameras have captured his unbound affection for Iwa-chan without his permission.

  
“Your ‘Iwa-chan’,” Kimiko concludes.

  
Tooru’s heart flutters at the thought of Iwa-chan being referred to as _his_. He lets out a soft sigh.

  
The screen shifts again.

  
This time, Tooru recognizes this next photo from his own Instagram, taken just three days ago. He and Iwa-chan had gone out to see a movie, and Tooru was _thrilled_ not only because of the movie but because Iwa-chan had let him choose where to get dinner. For weeks, Tooru had been prodding Iwa-chan to eat at this new hole-in-the-wall restaurant near Nee-chan’s apartment.

  
The food there wasn’t remarkable but, privately, Tooru had known that the agedashi tofu was a standout dish. He just wanted _so much_ to see Iwa-chan’s face light up with surprise when he got to taste it too. Tooru felt lucky that he was able to capture the moment on camera.

  
But looking at the photo now, he settles into a feeling of unease.

  
He looks at the photo and he thinks to himself, not for the first time but perhaps for the millionth, _you make me happy, but do_ I _make_ you _happy?_

  
“When you’re with him,” Mei says, “you’re the happiest you’ve ever been.” It’s not a question.

  
“Yes,” Tooru answers immediately. Plain and honest, because how could he lie when he’s already been so thoroughly caught.

  
“But you want more,” Mei says.

  
“Yes,” Tooru responds. And that’s not a question either.

  
“So why haven’t you done anything about it yet?” Mei says, too sharp and jagged for Tooru’s heart. There’s a challenge in her voice, and Tooru is brought back to the rooftop confession-turned-showdown when Kihara Mei stared deep into the recesses of his soul.

  
Tooru looks at her, mouth snapped shut. His heart hammers against his chest.

  
“That’s the question we asked ourselves too, at our last meeting,” Kimiko says, and her calmness feels dissonant against the tension in Tooru’s body. For all the world she sounds as if they were in nothing more than a business meeting ironing out some corporate sales strategy and not in the crazy, messed-up rom-com that was now Tooru’s life.

  
The slide changes again. It’s a highlighted excerpt from Tooru’s interview with _Volleyball Monthly_.

  
Despite himself, Tooru is pretty impressed by how deep the Fanclub’s research has gone.

  
“The answer is rather straightforward. Oikawa Tooru has described his strategy for winning volleyball matches in multiple articles. His philosophy is to learn as much about the other team as possible, through meticulous research beforehand and careful observation during the matches themselves. All this in an effort to accurately predict what the other team will do in-game, and to craft appropriate strategies to counteract their plays.” Kimiko narrates clinically. “In other words...”

  
“You don’t like going into battle without knowing thine enemy,” Mei finishes. “In other, _other_ words…”

  
“I’m scared he’ll say no or he’ll confirm he’s straight or he’ll make things weird and that I’ll mess up my friendship with him and he’ll never want to speak to me again and I’ll grow old forever alone surrounded by volleyballs and I’ll have to buy, like, a million cats with resting grumpy face as a sad attempt to try to replace him in my heart because I don’t want to force some innocent, perfectly sweet girl I don’t even like to marry me even though I’m still hung up on my stupid best friend who will probably hate me because he’ll most likely, definitely say no if I confess, **_OKAY??!?_ ** ” Tooru blurts out.

  
He blinks.

  
Somehow, even though his chest is heaving, he feels much lighter than he has all day. Maybe all month. Maybe his whole _life_.

  
“Yep,” Chiyo says flatly.

  
“Mmhm,” Mei nods.

  
“Figured as much,” Saya says.

  
“God,” Kimiko sighs. “You’re so _dumb_.”

  
“Rude!” Tooru moans.

  
He takes in a deep breath of air and releases it as slow as he can to calm his erratic heart.

  
“What if...he doesn’t like me?” he whispers, and it sounds more piteous and whiny than he ever wanted to sound in front of his fans and, horrifically, he feels tears start to prick the corners of his eyes.

  
“And, that’s where we can help you, Oikawa-kun,” Mei says gently, kneeling in front of him. She lifts his chin up, removes his glasses, and hands him a Hello Kitty themed Kleenex from her pocket. At her cue, Kimiko resumes the presentation.

  
“We’re the ‘Oikawa Tooru Fanclub’ first and foremost,” Kimiko says, and her clinical, reasonable presenting voice helps calm Tooru’s beating heart. “It’s no issue for us to pull a bunch of photos and interviews of _you_ and put two and two together.”

  
The next slide is a chart with two columns. On the left side, there’s a long list of bullet points under Tooru’s name. On the right, under Iwa-chan’s, there’s maybe three or four bullet points before the rest of the list devolves into a series of question marks and a .gif of Godzilla. Above the chart is its title:

 

**FACTS WE KNOW ABOUT OIKAWA TOORU & IWAIZUMI HAJIME**

 

“But, unfortunately, Iwaizumi-kun is significantly more private than you. Information about him isn’t as immediately accessible. His private Instagram is proof enough.”

  
She pushes the projector screen up and away to reveal a whiteboard filled to the edges with notes and brainstorms, charts and maps of the school. All of it, evidence of a brilliant scheme in the making.

  
“What we need to do is to secretly gather enough information from Iwaizumi-kun so you feel comfortable enough to confess to him without fear of totally ruining your friendship.”

  
“And, as much as we _already_ _know_ you have _absolutely nothing to worry about_ when it comes to confessing to him...” Mei says, cupping her hands on top of Tooru’s.

  
He throws her a baleful look and blows his nose, loud and wet.

  
“...We have a feeling that anecdotal outside observations and women’s intuition isn’t going to cut it for you as evidence. For some _strange_ reason, Oikawa-kun, you seem to be opposed to your own happiness and you’re not letting yourself see that Iwaizumi-kun is _totally_ head over heels for you. So if we—the senior members of the Oikawa Tooru Fanclub—have to play spy for you to gather the courage to confess to the one person who makes you the happiest, of course we’ll do it.”

  
“...You really think he’s head over heels?” Tooru says, looking up from his tissue, meekly. He’s way past the point of total mortification. He’s supposed to look _cool_ in front of his fans, and here he is reduced to a blubbering mess all because of a _stupid, stupid_ _boy_.

  
But the way that Mei, Saya, Kimiko, and Chiyo surround him with their kind smiles and caring looks, with their scarily accurate observations, and unnecessarily elaborate PowerPoint presentations and Hello Kitty tea parties, he recalls something Iwa-chan once told him.

  
He doesn’t have to face the burden all alone.

  
The strongest six are the ones who claim victory.

  
But maybe, just maybe, he’s found the perfect _four_.

  
Tooru wipes his eyes, crumples the tissue in his hand, and stands up to his full height. He marches over to the whiteboard with his chin in the air, and scans over all the hastily scribbled notes and charts in front of him. The threads are loose, but there’s enough there to start to tie together into something functional and fantastic. This is starting to feel familiar, the synapses in his brain unused to dealing with the overwhelmingly incomprehensible sensation of love are perfectly adept at the practical logistics of creating game strategy.

  
At the top of the whiteboard, Kihara Mei (and it’s her handwriting, of course) had written in bold pink dry-erase marker:

**  
OPERATION: GIVE OIKAWA-KUN A BOYFRIEND**

 

He can do this. They can do this.

  
Tooru turns, holds the gaze of every member of his team behind him and affirms, loud and clear:

  
“I believe in all of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everybody who commented, subscribed, and gave kudos to the last chapter!! ;O; It definitely encouraged me to finish up this next chapter much quicker than I thought I would~
> 
> It's been awhile since I last wrote fanfic, so I was really excited to see other people enjoy this silly little plot bunny I had. I received a lot of comments about how Tooru's relationship with his fangirls hasn't really been thoroughly explored in fandom. If this has inspired ya'll to write your own interpretations of the idea, I'd love to read more Super Supportive Oikawa Tooru Fanclub content!
> 
> Thanks again!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Next chapter should be up in a couple of weeks. :)


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